


#1 Boss

by flippyspoon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: Billy needs money. Erica is a capitalist.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Erica Sinclair, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 67
Kudos: 335
Collections: Essential Harringrove, harringrove for BLM





	#1 Boss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allfourofthem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfourofthem/gifts).



> Thanks, Rae! Hope you like it!

Mrs. Sinclair kept bringing Billy casseroles or pies or biscuits and gravy. Typically, if he was home, Billy answered the door and spoke in polite monosyllables while staring down at his shoes, unable to meet her kind gaze. Other times, if he wasn’t home or couldn’t bear to answer the door, she left the food in a grocery bag at the door. 

Billy thought it was the best food he’d ever eaten.

One day, Billy came home to his trailer from his almost part-time job at Leo’s Auto to find a grocery bag with a Tupperware full of lasagna and a rather flowery greeting card in an envelope addressed to him. Mrs. Sinclair had written in her neat handwriting that if he was looking for some work, First Baptist Church of Hawkins needed extra hands cleaning out storage rooms, repainting, and fixing up other odds and ends. A three week job at most, but she hoped it might help him out.

Billy had just come from talking to Owens when he read the card and was already in a sensitive mood. He blamed that timing for the few tears that slid down his cheeks. 

The kindness was persistent and overwhelming. And the only thing Billy had done to deserve it was to write a (long) letter to Lucas Sinclair after Owens finally convinced him he’d feel better if he at least tried it. 

It had confused Billy how much he was hung up on that one night at the Byers after everything that had happened in the summer of ‘85. But his mind kept conflating all the events. Sometimes, especially right after he’d come back from the military hospital, he remembered himself as possessed by the Shadow that night he’d gone after Lucas and fought Steve. He kept having to remember that it wasn’t the Shadow who hurt them, it was just him. Him and his anger. He was hung up on it. For weeks, it was all he could talk about with Owens.

“It seems to me, all these experiences have irrevocably changed you,” Owens had said in that matter-of-fact tone of his. “Maybe you felt bad about these things before, maybe you didn’t. Now you’re having trouble living with them at all. If you can, I think you should talk to them about it. Perhaps write letters. I know, I know. It sounds cheesy. But just writing the letter might help you clarify your feelings. And you should definitely talk to Max.”

It took Billy a week to write the letters to Steve and Lucas before he even showed them to Owens, who called them “raw and honest and good.” It took him another week to sum up the nerve to deliver them and really start talking to Max.

Now Mrs. Sinclair brought him casseroles. Which meant, he supposed, that Lucas had shown his mother the letter...which was mortifying and aggravating, but at least he got free food now.

He could only hope the kid hadn’t shown the letter to his little friends, other than Max. He’d let Max read the letter before he gave it to Lucas and she attacked Billy with a tearful hug afterwards.

Max now visited the trailer with Lucas once in a while and it turned out Lucas was a cool kid. He was also responsible for Billy’s new interest in Bruce Lee movies.

It was a warm Saturday in April when Billy decided to finally return all the dishes and Tupperware that came with all that free food. He’d acquired several and that Mrs. Sinclair had yet to remind him to return the damn things was just another symptom of her kindness. Billy scrubbed them all out, dried them, and carefully double-bagged them.

It was too warm to be wearing his jeans jacket, but Billy liked a subtle layer of armor. At least he’d finally moved past the giant hoodies with the hood pulled low over his eyes, and Max had stopped calling him a “wraith.” 

It almost felt good to be walking through Hawkins to the Sinclairs’ house with his bag of casserole dishes and Tupperware, the breeze blowing his curls around.

Or it was fun until he ran into Erica Sinclair.

Billy stopped short when he saw the lemonade stand set up at the end of the Sinclairs’ huge front lawn. The “stand” was really a card table and a poster board with blocky writing on it that said: PINK LEMONADE $1. 

Erica Sinclair sat at the card table on a bar stool, leaning on her hand and glaring at nothing. There was a large pitcher of pink lemonade on the table next to two stacks of paper cups, and a cooler on the ground that Billy supposed contained more lemonade.

Erica wore orange overalls and a yellow t-shirt; an outfit so bright, he wondered if it was designed to attract customers. If so, it wasn’t working. But then, this block of the neighborhood had never been prone to foot traffic. 

Billy chewed his lip and looked longingly at the Sinclairs’ front door. All he had to do was leave the bag at the door. He didn’t _have_ to speak to Erica at all. He’d never spoken to her before. And new people, even kids, were sometimes a trial to talk to. Also, she knew about him. She’d seen it all go down. Which was both easier and harder somehow.

 _Don’t be a pussy_.

Billy rolled his eyes and made himself move. He approached the lemonade stand and nodded.

“Hey. Erica, right?”

Erica scowled at him and said, “Do you want a lemonade? It’s a buck.”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I just came to return these dishes to your mom. She’s always giving me food?” He held up the bag and the dishes clinked against each other inside.

“She’s not home,” Erica said. “She’s at Mrs. McKenzie’s.”  
“Oh. Whatever. I can just leave them.” Billy decided to act before Erica could stop him and he crossed the big lawn and left the bag carefully on the Sinclairs’ front stoop. 

Years of conditioning from a hardass father had taught him that though _he_ was a piece of shit who deserved nothing, it was important to show gratitude and be polite to other people. He’d always been pretty good at that...at least with adults. He’d charmed Mrs. Sinclair the first time around just before throwing her son up against a wall.

Sometime, he would need to do something to thank her for the help she kept giving freely.

“Are you sure you don’t want a lemonade!” Erica said, as he crossed back across the lawn. “It’s only one dollar!”

Billy frowned and approached the lemonade stand, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no offense, kid. But that’s pretty goddamn steep for a lemonade. Most kids charge what? A quarter? A dime even? I can walk tree blocks and get two Cokes and a Snickers for a dollar. Why would I buy your shitty lemonade for a buck?”

“It’s not shitty! It’s homemade!” Eric crossed her arms on the table and glared up at him. “You’re paying for an artisanal experience!”

“Yeah?” Billy chuckled and leaned on the table, half sitting on the corner. “How many of these artisanal experiences have you sold so far?”

“One,” Erica muttered. “To my _dad_. Who made me do it in the first place.”

“Your dad made you put up a lemonade stand?”

“You think this would be my idea?” She said, throwing up her hands. “I set the price. That’s _it_! He wanted me to learn about money. Like I don’t know about money? Just because I want my own TV and Atari in my room like Lucas has. So unfair.”

“Wait a minute.” Billy pinched the bridge of his nose and he couldn’t help the sardonic laugh bubbling up his throat. “Your brother’s got his own TV _and_ an Atari?”

“Yeah? What about it?” 

“Nothing.”

“Oh what,” Erica said. “Like we’re so spoiled? You had that fancy car, right?”

“Hey, I started saving for that car when I was fourteen! I dug ditches for that car! My goddamn hands bled for that car!” Billy blurted, abruptly defensive. “And my old man only let me get it so I could do shit for him all the time and cart Max around. I wasn’t getting any Ataris, I’ll tell ya that much.”

“Whatever.”

“Pfft. Okay.” Billy snorted and didn’t yet feel like walking all the way back home. 

He wanted to go to Family Video and see Steve who he was friendly with him after getting his letter.

Being anywhere near Steve tended to make him feel better about...everything.

But the thought was also terrifying and Erica amused him. He lit himself a cigarette and stayed right where he was.

“You’re loitering, you know.” Erica snapped. 

“Ugh.” He took a drag, stuck his cig between his lips, and dug into his pocket. He found some quarters and dropped four on the table. “Fine. Gimme a lemonade. Now I’m a customer.”

“Well, that’s different,” Erica said. She stood up, cleared her throat, and poured Billy a cup of lemonade. “Here you go. Thank you for your business. Please come again.”

“No ice or nothin’?” Billy said.

“It’s-”

“Artisanal,” Billy said, waving his hands. He nodded and took the cup. “Whatever you say, kid.” He took a sip and frowned. The pink lemonade did not taste like pink lemonade. The flavor was terribly weak and also tasted suspiciously familiar.

Billy pursed his lips and said, “This is watered down raspberry Kool-Aid.”

“It’s _artisanal_!”

“It’s _bullshit._ ”

“Well, that’s all I had!” Erica threw up her hands. “We only had two packets left so I thought I should spread it out. Water down the product?”

“Why didn’t you just buy some lemons and shit and make your own then?” Billy shrugged. He was thirsty enough to down the rest of the crappy “pink lemonade” before taking another drag. “Or better yet, make something people actually want. Why is it always lemonade with kids anyway?”

“Because it’s so easy to make, obviously. But I _wanted_ to make brownies.” Erica crossed her arms and sat down again. “My dad wouldn’t give me any money to buy stuff. That’s the whole point, dummy. I need money! And it’s total bullshit. Every business has start-up costs. It would have just been a loan. Could have made a cooler sign too. And this location stinks. No foot traffic! Ugh. I just want money for an Atari. And a TV. Maybe a computer...” She sounded a series of whiney noises and rested her head on her arms.

“No kidding,” Billy muttered. He took another drag and stroked his chin. “It’s always goddamn money. I’ve been trying to do odd jobs around town to make ends meet and… pfft.” He waved his cigarette vaguely. “It’s like no one really knows what happened with me. But they know just enough. Except your mom. She’s cool. And Henderson’s mom is cool.”

“They all think you’re a monster?” Erica said quietly. It was strange to see her look so grave. “Kinda like Will Byers?”

“Basically,” Billy murmured. He crushed the cup in his hand. “Even if they don’t, I don’t really love talking to people.”

“You talk to Steve Harrington all the time,” Erica said. He squinted. He couldn’t tell if she meant anything by it. “Lucas said you took him and Max to the Palace and they had to practically drag you out of the video store because you were talking to Steve so long even after they closed the store? They almost missed curfew! He says you’re always at the video store talking to-”

“Whatever!” Billy said. “So what of it? Steve is cool! He’s...cooler than your friends!”

He felt heat rush into his cheeks and wondered if the Shadow had sucked every bit of cool out of him he had once possessed.

Erica reared back and blinked at him. “Okaaaay.”

She fixed him with an intense gaze and Billy stood up quickly. “I gotta go-”

“Wait wait!” She gently tugged on his jacket and then his arm and that alone was startling.

The thing was, people didn’t touch him. 

Every once in a while, when he and Max had one of their very secret and very gut wrenching conversations (nothing he’d ever thought possible) they’d end up hugging. Other than Max, the only people who had touched Billy since July 4, 1985 had been the nurses and doctors who had treated him. And their touches were nothing but clinical. 

Erica Sinclair rested her hand on his arm and he froze. The little bit of contact was jolting.

“What kind of odd jobs are you trying to get anyway?” Erica said. “Like mowing lawns or something?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged and she moved away again. “I can do all kinds of yard work. Lawns, trim trees and hedges, clean up weeds and brush. Shit like that. Clean pools. I can fix cars. I can do construction shit. Not really involved stuff. But I could do drywall? My dad made me learn that one summer when we fixed our old garage. And I learned some more stuff working at the church.”

“Jack of all trades,” Erica said. She had a peculiar glint in her eye.

“I guess?”

Erica stroked her chin and said, “I think I have a proposal. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m...smoking and talking to a child who has clearly been taken in by Reaganomics.”

“No way! I hate Reagan! He’s so creepy and old. Anyway, help me with this stuff.” She gestured toward the table and the cooler. “We have work to do.”

Billy stubbed out his cigarette and, somehow, ended up following Erica’s directions. If only because he had nothing better to do except pester Steve, and every time he pestered Steve he became more nervous about the next time he pestered Steve. Erica took the still mostly full pitcher of “pink lemonade” and Billy folded up the table and carried it and the sign back inside the house. He brought in the bag of empty casserole dishes and Tupperware while he was at it.

The Sinclair house was _nice_ , in Billy’s opinion. Mrs. Sinclair had invited him inside more than once while he was picking up Max. It was the kind of house families lived in on TV shows.

“Just bring everything to the kitchen,” Erica said over her shoulder. He leaned the table against a counter, uncertain. And Erica nodded for him to sit at the kitchen table. Reluctantly, he took off his jacket. Nice house, but kind of warm. That made the scars on his arms visible and he crossed them, self-conscious.

Erica stood near the refrigerator and heaved a sigh. “I am supposed to offer guests a beverage.”

“I just had a beverage,” Billy pointed out.

“Erica? Did you give up already?” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice slightly echoed from the hall and Billy tensed. He’d thought she wasn’t home, but there she was, grinning at him as she walked in. “Oh! Billy! What a nice surprise.”

Billy got to his feet again and cleared his throat. “Hey, Mrs. Sinclair. I was just bringing back the um…” He gestured vaguely toward the bag of dishes on the table. “Your dishes and stuff. Thanks for…” He blushed and hated himself for it. “The food. And the church job?”

“Of course.” She waved her hand like it was nothing. As if her casseroles hadn’t kept him fed in between Susan’s occasional groceries. “Have you eaten? I’ll make you something. Sit down, honey. Erica, you have to clear this stuff out. Have you seen your brother?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s at Mike’s.” She threw up her hands. In a blur of activity she grumbled while dragging the folded table off to a closet and disappearing the sign. She unpacked a giant plastic container of useless Kool Aid from the cooler and dragged it away before returning with a pad of paper and a pen.

“Billy, how is it going out at the lake?” Mrs. Sinclair said, pulling food out of the fridge. “It’s so isolated out there, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, well... I don’t really mind that.” Billy rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed the pleasure of someone giving a shit.

Erica sat down across from Billy, looking irritated. “Mother, we are in the middle of a business meeting here.”

Billy curled his lip. “Uh, we are?”

“A business meeting?” Mrs. Sinclair raised an amused eyebrow and looked back and forth between them. “Erica, you’re not brokering bets with the kids in your class again? If I have to go down to the school one more time-”

“No!” Erica huffed. “It’s real business. Billy has marketable skills and I’m going to be his management.”

“You are?” Billy was mildly afraid. “Why?”

“It’s like you said.” Erica looked like she was trying very hard not to get impatient. “You can do all these different things for work, but people are all weirded out or you don’t want to talk to them. So _I_ will do the talking for you. I’ll get you the jobs, you do the work, and then _I_ get a cut.”

“This better not take away from your homework time, young lady,” Mrs. Sinclair said.

“It won’t! I promise.” She pounded her little fist on the table. “Dad wanted me to learn about making money or whatever. That’s what I’m doing! But no gambling this time.”

“Hmm.” Her mother seemed suspicious, but she only nodded. “We’ll see. Billy, I’m going to make you lunch. You like turkey?”

His stomach rumbled. 

“Sure. Thank you. That would be great actually.” He turned back to Erica. “Wait, what do you mean, take a cut?”

“For doing the leg work, obviously. Plus advertising. I’ll put up flyers in town and I’ll stuff mailboxes.” She started writing things down on her pad of paper. “Construction...yard work...cars...pool cleaning... I bet we can charge Loch Nora twice what we charge anyone else. They’d pay it too.”

“Loch Nora?”

Billy’s eye twitched.

“And I’ll take, let’s see…” She smirked and tapped her pen on her chin. It was a bright pink Hello Kitty pen with a pom pom on the end. “Forty percent.”

“Forty percent!” Billy blurted.

Even her mother, who was busy making sandwiches at the counter said, “Erica, that is absurd. Be a fair employer or you’re grounded.”

“Ugh. Fine. Thirty.”

“Twenty-five,” Billy said.

“What! That is so unfair-”

“Erica,” her mother said warningly.

Billy sat back and felt just a bit of his old swagger. He regarded Erica and motioned for her pen and paper. “Okay, look, kid. Let’s say I do a whole day of yard work for somebody? How much you think I can charge? Twenty?’

“For a whole day of work? Forty in our neighborhood,” Mrs. Sinclair said. She threw a dish towel over her shoulder and turned to face them. “Fifty in Loch Nora. Cherry Lane, people will want to haggle. Then twenty. But there aren’t any freelance landscapers out here and not many handymen types. People do yard work and fix things themselves or have their kids do it. And they’re probably sick of it. And look out for old folks, they’ll have overgrown yards they can’t do themselves. Offer to do rain gutters and seal windows too. And don’t forget the farms. People are on the look out for extra hands now and then.”

“Forty!” Billy eyebrows jumped. “ No kidding? Shoot. Okay.” He wrote down the figure. “Okay, so twenty-five percent of forty is...ten bucks. Ten bucks a job for you. Let’s say I get five jobs in a week?” He looked at Mrs. Sinclair hopefully.

“Easy,” she said, nodding. 

“Erica! That’s fifty bucks in a week! You’d clean up!”

“Fifty bucks a week!” Erica slammed her palm on the table, her eyes large. “Okay, fine. Twenty-five percent.”

“Right, and you’ll do all the talking?” Billy said, raising an eyebrow. “And remember, I do some hours at Leo’s. I’ll get you my schedule. Do _not_ schedule me during my shifts. I’m trying to get to full-time hours there eventually.”

“Hargrove, I’ve got this,” Erica said. She offered him her hand. “Deal?”

He shook her hand. “Deal.”

“There’s just one more condition-”

“I already shook your hand!” Billy rubbed his eyes and sat back, hoping the turkey sandwich would be as good as Mrs. Sinclair’s sweet potato casserole. “I am not going above twenty-five, kid.”

“No no.” Erica stood and said. “There’s just a book I want you to read. It’s about how to start a business and stuff like that. It’s _informative_.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Billy muttered. Erica dashed off to her room and Mrs. Sinclair cast him an amused look.

“You’re in it now,” she said wryly. “Good luck with that.”

“Oh boy…”

Erica returned carrying what looked like a slim paperback and when she tossed it to him, he caught it neatly. He frowned, baffled. “ _The...Babysitters Club_ ? _Kristy’s Great Idea_?”

“It’s about four young, enterprising women starting their own business,” Erica said. “It’s inspirational. Read that and I’ll start advertising. And get me that work schedule!”

“Yes, sir, boss lady.”

* * *

Billy had absolutely no intention of reading _The Babysitters Club #1 Kristy’s Great Idea_. But Erica watched him like a hawk and made sure he took it with him when he left. He figured he’d avoid fighting the twerp on stupid shit before he found out if she could really get him work. 

He stashed the book in his inside jacket pocket so there was no chance Steve might see it when he stopped by Family Video. He’d ended up eating lunch with Lucas who came home just as Mrs. Sinclair was digging out the fruit cups. When Erica explained her new business venture to Lucas, he laughed for ten minutes and told Billy he must have left his brains with the Mind Flayer to be going into business with his sister. Billy thought he might have a point.

But that night, there was nothing good on TV. He didn’t have cable and he’d read all his library books already. That left him with either dark thoughts or Steve Harrington fantasies.

Billy opted for Kristy, Mary Anne, Claudia, and Stacey.

“Oh my God, Kristy, get over yourself,” Billy said a half hour later, his mouth full of Oreos as he turned another page.

It ended up entertaining him for the night, though he had a lot of thoughts about it and nowhere to put them. He was not to admit he’d actually read _The Babysitters Club_.

The next morning, Billy called the Sinclairs and left a detailed message for Erica with his garage schedule for the week which only amounted to twelve hours. Erica reported that she had printed out flyers on her father’s computer and would be taking them to the copy place and posting them around town.

“Hey, how’re you going to let me know I got a job?” Billy said. “I don’t have one of those machines or anything.”

“Ugh. How could you not have an answering machine? Join the twentieth century, Hargrove,” Erika said. Billy gritted his teeth and Erica said, “Okay, call the house at eight every night? I’ll tell you if I’ve got anything.”

“Good enough.”

“Did you read the book?”

Billy wanted to say that he thought the coolest girl of all of them was definitely Stacey McGill even if the book wanted you to think it was Claudia Kishi who was stuck living in the overwhelming shadow of her more accomplished sister, and that Mary Anne definitely had a dysfunctional relationship with her domineering father (he’d learned that stuff from Dr. Owens), and that Kristy was a total control freak.

Instead he said, “No! I’m not reading that stupid book!”

“Ugh! Fine!” Erica said. “Call at eight tomorrow. I’m going to ask around the neighborhood after school.”

Billy had low expectations for how this would go. Erica had a kind of charisma about her that had made him believe the business would work in the sanctity of the Sinclair’s kitchen. But alone in ole Chief Hopper’s trailer, he was left with his dark thoughts and the echoes of his father’s voice that was only beginning to fade these days.

The next day, Billy had no shift at Leo’s and nothing much to do. He slept in late, ate toast and three eggs for breakfast, and walked to the library. He returned his books and checked out new ones; _The World According to Garp_ and _The Stand_. He read in the library for a couple of hours, but soon enough the itch to go to Family Video tingled under his skin. It was getting to be ridiculous. He at least owned a VCR now, though rentals ate into his grocery budget. He’d bought it secondhand from Radio Shack. The clicker didn’t work and he had to duct tape the cables in back to make them stick. But so far, the thing wasn’t eating any VHS tapes.

At Family Video, Billy talked to Steve about _Miami Vice_ and how weird Steve’s parents were and how Steve had talked to Tommy Hagen (away at IU at Bloomington) and about a million other things that Billy hardly remembered once he left, smiling. It didn’t matter what they talked about. What mattered was that Steve laughed when Billy made a joke, that he explained his theories of Crockett and Tubbs’ strengths with a dead serious gravity, and that when the sunlight glinted off his hair and he raised his eyes a certain way, Billy thought he might pass out.

It didn’t help that Robin kept smirking at him like she _knew_.

That night, Billy called Erica.

She had three jobs for him, all carefully scheduled around his hours at Leo’s.

“Three jobs?” Billy leaned on his kitchen counter, his phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder as he dug into a box of Lucky Charms, eating them by the fistful. “Really?”

“The first one is at Dustin’s house,” Erica explained, all business. “It’s drywall stuff in the basement? From when the demodogs-”

“ _Yo_. Erica! Christ, be careful what you say on the phone. Shit.”

“Oh. Right, sorry. Anyway. There’s a big damn hole in the basement she needs walled off. So she said tomorrow you could just check it out and see what you need for the job since you have to go get the drywall and everything. And then you’ll come back for the actual work.”

“Yeah yeah. I get you.”

He was to report to the Henderson house at three in the afternoon on Tuesday. On Wednesday, he was to mow Mrs. Patterson’s lawn, pull weeds, trim hedges, and clean out rain gutters. On Thursday he was hanging a door for the Kindseys. And then at some point, he’d report back to Mrs. Henderson with the drywall. Erica read out each address carefully and reported the agreed upon payment for each job. He was to bring her cut to the house on Friday evenings. 

For ten minutes, Billy forgot he wasn’t talking to an adult. Until Erica said, “If you’re not going to read my book, I want it back. You better not wreck it or I’ll be forced to dock your pay!”

“Jesus, you’re such a Kristy,” Billy muttered.

Erica gasped. “You read it!”

“Fine, I read it!” Billy’s cheeks heated. _Goddammit._ “I’ll return it with your cash so lay off!” He hung up and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck my life.”

* * *

The next day at three o’clock, Dustin Henderson and Lucas greeted him at the door of the Henderson house. Lucas nodded a greeting. He was sucking on a blue Otter Pop. But Dustin looked wary, just like most people did when they saw him these days.

“Billy,” Dustin said flatly. “You’re looking...well.”

“Thanks,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “You want to show me this hole in the cellar or what?”

Lucas cackled. “Cannot believe you’re working for Erica. I haven’t stopped laughing in two days!”

“I’m not really working _for_ her,” Billy grumbled. “She finds me jobs is all. She gets a cut. She’s like...an agent.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Lucas cracked.

“It’s all very _un-_ Billy Hargrove-like behavior if you ask me,” Dustin said, squinting up at him. “Are you sure you aren’t-”

“I’m not possessed!” Billy spat. “Jesus.”

“Okay okay. C’mon.” Dustin was awkward. He moved stiffly, side-eyeing Billy as he shut the door and passed him, as if Billy might attack at any moment. Billy and Lucas followed him around to a small door in the side of the house and down a narrow flight of stairs. Lucas tossed Billy a knowing smile at Dustin’s expense and that felt strange, but not in a bad way.

At the bottom of the stairs, Lucas stopped short and said, “Whoa. You weren’t kidding.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, crossing his arms. “D’art’s work. Good ole D’art. My mom thinks it was gophers? That’s what Hopper told her. I don’t know if she ever believed him. She meant to have it fixed forever ago.”

Billy stood in the middle of the dim cellar, clutching the tape measure he’d brought with him, and stared at the dark hole beyond which there was a seemingly endless tunnel that joined all the other tunnels and burrows beneath Hawkins. Steve had told him all about it. But he hadn’t needed to.

Billy remembered. Because the Shadow had remembered. 

For the most part, Billy’s dark thoughts revolved around things _he_ had done or things his body had done while under the control of the Shadow, or the Mind Flayer, as the others called it. But every once in a while, a random memory that belonged to the Shadow entered his mind. Mercifully, the Shadow’s memories were fading. That was a relief. There had been a time while he was under the Shadow’s control and especially right after, when all he could think about was the Shadow’s memories. And the Shadow’s mind was connected to all its monstrous servants too. 

The memories were so visceral that Billy had lain in a hospital bed and tried to remember when Eleven had killed him or when he’d killed that girl with red hair. Those particular memories were gone now, only dim and abstract ideas.

But now, looking into that dark void, Billy remembered hoards of demodogs racing through the tunnels. He remembered Steve Harrington standing between them and Max and Lucas and Dustin…

It was so sudden and so intense, it knocked the wind out of him.

Then he began to panic.

They were coming! The demodogs. They were all coming and they were going to kill Max and Lucas…

“Billy?” Lucas’s voice was faint. Billy could hardly hear it. He could hardly even breathe. He whimpered and collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. “Oh shit.”

“It’s got him again!”

“No, stupid. It’s not the Mind Flayer. He’s just flipping out. I’ve seen him do it before. Get him a glass of water, Dustin. Hurry!”

His heart was beating too fast! His palms were sweating. He was going to die! Lucas was going to die! He scrambled into a corner and hugged his knees.

“Whoa, okay…” Lucas knelt in front of him. “Billy. Man, you’re freaking out. The tunnel must’ve set it off-”

“Sinclair, you have to get out of here,” Billy said. He squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at his throat. “They’re coming. They’re coming for you. You gotta go-”

“Billy,” Lucas said, sounding far too calm. “You’re just freaking out. Just breathe. In and out? You’re just remembering what the Mind Flayer remembered. It happened at the house? You remembered attacking El? It was really bad. And then Max made you a milkshake, and you were fine. It’s okay. There aren’t any demodogs. They’re not coming, I swear. It’s just a hole. Just keep breathing. Open your eyes?”

Reluctantly, Billy opened his eyes and looked at Lucas who was making a show of breathing deeply in and out. Billy followed his lead and eventually felt a bit better. He drank the water Dustin brought him. 

But the whole thing was mortifying, and Dustin and Lucas wouldn’t stop staring at him. 

“Yeah yeah,” Billy said under his breath as he got to his feet. “How far the mighty have fallen. This must be fun for you.” 

“It is,” Dustin said.

“Pssht.” Lucas shrugged. “You’re still much cooler now. I mean, once I puked in front of Max at the movies like the third time we went out. And I can’t even say it was because of the Mind flayer so…”

Billy snorted a laugh, dusting off his jeans. “Max told me about that. Pukus Sinclair, she said.”

“Pukus Sinclair!” Dustin burst out laughing. “ _Pukus_ Sinclair!”

“Shut up!” Lucas punched him in the shoulder. 

“Okya, okay. One of you dipshits want to help me measure this hole or what?” Billy said. “I’m on the clock here.”

* * *

On Friday, Billy called Erica following a week of pretty steady work. Erica, Billy decided, would probably own her own company by the time she graduated high school. Assuming her parents allowed it. 

“I got four jobs for you starting next Tuesday and another one coming up...” Erica reported as Billy finished off his box of Lucky Charms. “It’s on Sunday afternoon-”

“Sinclair!” Billy gritted his teeth and tossed the box of Lucky Charms aside. “What the hell, man? I told you I wanted Sunday off! Just _one_ day. I’ve been working my ass off-”

“It’s _Steve’s_ house.” He kind of hated the way she said it, as if she knew that would change everything.

It did.

Billy shut his mouth with a painful clack. His stomach twisted. “Steve? Steve Harrington?”

“Obviously.” He could hear her rolling her eyes. “Pool cleaning, yard work… About four hours, he said. One o’clock. Sunday.”

“Wait wait, _he_ said?” Billy sputtered. “Steve called you himself? Not his mom or his dad?”

“Oh my God…” Erica huffed and grumbled, as if Billy was seriously putting her out. “Yeah, Steve called. Not surprising. When I gave him the flyer at the video store, he was all weird about it. He looked like he was on drugs or something.”

“Huh… Okay, well. I guess it’s fine just this once.”

“ _Thank_ you, Erica, for doing all the legwork finding me jobs!”

“Yeah yeah, thanks, kid. You get your cut, don’tcha?”

“Heh. Yeah, at the rate we’re going, I’m even gonna have a Nintendo before Lucas does!”

* * *

On Sunday morning, Billy woke up earlier than usual. The thought of going to see Steve’s house erupted in his head and he couldn’t help but smile about it, as nervous as he was. He talked to Steve at the video store all the time, but they’d never hung out. Billy didn’t have the nerve to bring it up and Steve never had. 

“He probably won’t even be home,” Billy said to himself as he got dressed later that day, after restlessly pacing the trailer and smoking outside while staring out at the lake and thinking of Steve. Steve had likely just called on his parent’s behalf. He’d probably have to deal with his stuffy, rich dad looking down on him (that was how Billy had always pictured Steve’s parents). Maybe that would be better.

The thought of dealing with Steve face to face, away from the relative comfort of the video store and on Steve’s own turf was even more nerve wracking.

At one o’clock sharp, Billy stood on Steve’s front stoop and, summing up his nerve, pounded on the door just before he noticed the button for a bell. 

So far, Billy was a little confused. The Harrington’s front lawn and surrounding yard was perfectly manicured. The trees even looked recently trimmed. He had to assume all the work was in the backyard.

The door swung open immediately and a breeze blew Steve Harrington’s hair back. He grinned at Billy and rocked on his toes. “Hey! Hi. Uh, come in?”

Billy looked Steve up and down with a quickness developed from years of covertly checking out guys. Steve wore a bright blue t-shirt that clung to his lean frame and when he turned, Billy sucked in a breath.

He was sure Steve had never worn jeans so tight that clung so deliciously to his round ass. 

Girls were always telling Billy he had a great ass (or they used to) but Steve had the best ass in Hawkins, in his opinion. The best ass in anywhere, really.

“So um... “ He rolled his neck and hoped he could contain himself, at least enough not to be embarrassing. “You got yard work for me, huh?”

“No,” Steve said, as Billy followed him through the house to the kitchen where Steve stopped and leaned on the counter. “Well, um… Hey, you want a Coke?”

“Sure…” Billy wore a t-shirt because so far, he always got too hot and sweaty to stand wearing a jacket once he was done working, and the spring was running warm. But now the fabric of his shirt felt too thin, as if Steve might see his heart beating too loudly in his chest and _know_. “Yeah.”

“Cool cool.” Steve said. He smiled tightly and swung around the counter to the fridge, digging out two cans of Coke. He slid one neatly down the counter and Billy captured it in his palm, the ice cold can pleasing and grounding. “So, it’s funny actually? I called Erica to set up your job, right? And then it turned out my mom scheduled somebody to come yesterday? To do the pool and all the yardwork? So…” Steve sighed heavily, his eyebrows raised. There was something off about the entire thing. “So yeah. All the work’s been done already.”

“Oh. Shit.” Billy popped his Coke open. There went his precious Day of Steve. He knocked back half of his soda and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Yeah…” Steve was watching him closely. He walked determinedly up to Billy, only to stop short again. “Okay but, so you know how if you have to cancel a doctor’s appointment, you gotta cancel within like twenty-four hours so you won’t get charged? Well…” Steve shrugged. “Once I found out, the work was already done and shit. But it’s not fair for you to lose out, right? So we can still pay you your fifty bucks.”

Billy snorted in surprise. “You’re going to give me fifty bucks for nothing, Harrington?”

“Well, I figure if I don’t, Erica Sinclair might kick my ass,” Steve said wryly. “She wouldn’t even give me a Scoops Troop discount. It’s brutal. And, ya know…” Steve shifted from food to foot. He drank some of his Coke and somehow managed to choke on it, pounding his chest with his fist, his face red. “Um, if you want, you can hang out here? Since you were going to be here anyway. Or whatever. Or use the pool? If you want, or we could…” He swallowed and said very softly, “Watch a movie...together.”

Billy was pretty sure Steve’s kitchen was spinning. He felt suddenly lightheaded.

“Oh,” he said. “Um…”

“I mean that’s not why I booked you for the job!” Steve said, and his voice jumped a couple octaves, panic written across his face. “I-I really did have stuff for you to do. The...pool. And…”

Billy felt suddenly a great sense of confidence he had not felt in almost a year and he sidled up to Steve and smiled slyly. “You seem a little nervous, Harrington.” He spoke low and husky. It was the same voice that got him favors from girls and free pie from diner waitresses. Steve’s eyelashes fluttered and that was the moment Billy was sure. _Holy shit_. “I think you just wanted me to come over. Is there something else you wanted me to...do?”

“Um…nothing I’d want to be paying you for? I didn’t really…” Steve heaved a sigh. “ _Ugh_ . It’s just that Robin read your letter? And she thought… She said she thought you liked me, like _really_ liked me and I can’t stop thinking about it? Or you, so I dunno. Jesus Christ, this is like the dumbest plan I’ve ever had and I’ve had a lot of dumb plans-”

“Steve.” 

Steve’s mouth snapped shut and he stared at Billy, inching closer. “Yeah?”

“Robin’s really smart.” 

It took Steve a minute to fully absorb what Billy meant and then he ducked his head and smiled into a kiss that left Billy breathless. “Stay a while then,” Steve whispered against his lips. 

“I’ll stay all day, pretty boy,” Billy said, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

And inwardly, he couldn’t help but thank Erica Sinclair.

He was pretty sure that without Erica, the two of them might have pined forever.

* * *

“Ericaaaaaaa!” Lucas screamed for his sister, rather than take the trouble to walk from the front door to the kitchen where she sat, circling wished for items in the J.C. Penny’s catalogue.

“WHAT?”

“You have a package!” Lucas shouted.

“Well, bring it here!” 

“Come get it yourself!”

“JUST BRING ME THE PACKAGE, PUKUS!”

A minute later, Lucas slammed a small white box onto the kitchen table, and narrowed his eyes at his sibling. “Don’t call me Pukus,” he said with gritted teeth.

“What about the Vomit Comet?” Erica said, not looking up from her catalogue. “Because you can run fast, but also you throw up in front of your girlfriend.”

“I hate you,” Lucas said simply, and went to the fridge for a Capri Sun. “What is that? Someone left it on the front step?”

The box said “TO ERICA” in a scratchy hand on top. Erica chewed her lip and grabbed a pen, cutting through the bit of tape holding the box shut. Inside something was balled up in newspaper and Erica frowned, unwrapping a small, heavy item. Lucas sat down across from her, watching the proceedings as he drank his Capri.

The mug read: #1 Boss

Erica couldn’t fight the grin on her face when she saw it. She found a note inside that read: 

_Thanks, Erica._

_Scoops Troop forever._

_-Steve._

_P.S. This was not my idea._

_-Billy_


End file.
